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Derek and Alex “have a history together.” That’s how it’s politely referred to by those in the know. “Are you sure you’re okay with this trade?” they asked him. “You guys have quite the history together.”
Or the less friendly: “The Boss has asked that you two tone down the horseplay on the field, given your history together.”
Of course, those not in the know have picked up the habit from those who are, and so it’s hard to tell the one from the other anymore.
“You know, those two have a whole history together,” he overheard Hughes telling Joba knowingly not one week after Joba was called up.
Or maybe Derek’s just kidding himself to think there’s anyone left who doesn’t know. As they learned the first time around, there’s not a whole lot you can keep from forty plus guys all working and living right on top of each other for eight months straight.
Which is why he shouldn’t be surprised when Robbie and Melky pull him aside the night they’re eliminated by Cleveland.
The clubhouse is strewn with guys huddled in on themselves in ones and twos, a few murmuring to each other, but most staring silently despondent at nothing, all of them sniffling as discreetly as they can.
Robbie and Melky are standing by Melky’s locker. They look less distraught than most, but of course they should. They are young enough that a future with a ring in it looms ahead of them as certain as their own invincibility.
“Derek,” Robbie says, stress on the wrong syllable, “Leche wants me to ask you something.” He darts his eyes at Melky and frowns a little as if to make clear that he wouldn’t be doing this if it were up to him.
Derek nods at him to continue, and Robbie looks at Melky again, who elbows him a little.
“It’s about Alex,” he says, looking at his hands.
Derek pushes aside the first two questions he wants to ask which are, “Why should you need to talk to me about Alex,” and “Why do you say ‘it’s about Alex’ like you think I’m going to get mad?” and settles for a simple, “What?”
Robbie licks his lips and clears his throat a little. “He wanna know if he say anything to you, you know, about the contract?”
“No.” Derek looks at Melky and doesn’t elaborate. Alex has certainly tried to get him to ask. Occasionally dropping little bits of bait, saying how he’s sure the showers won’t run suddenly hot or cold in the new clubhouse, or asking Derek to give him pointers on dodging Page Six “for next year.”
Melky says something quickly and softly in Spanish. Robbie seems to argue back, but Melky cuts him off with a word and a prod to the shoulder.
“Leche thinks it will help if you say something, you know? Let him know we all want him to stay.”
Derek thinks of just saying no and walking away, but then they will think he’s angry at them, and he’s not, really. He feels angry, but he’s self-aware enough to know that it’s not at Melky and Robbie.
“Tell him he should talk to him,” Derek says. “Alex loves Melky.”
Robinson dutifully translates, and Melky tucks his chin to his right shoulder showing the dimple in his left cheek and shrugs modestly.
“Right now I’m more worried about losing the skipper.”
“I hear you man.” Robinson nods and relays the comment to Melky.
“Sí, sí,“ Melky says, and then he gestures at Robbie and a flow of Spanish follows in which Derek has already picked out the word "historia" even before Robbie turns to him and says, “He said he wants Joe to stay too, but he worry about Alex. He says, you two have, you know, like, the history together.”
Melky is nodding encouragingly at him, his expression open and earnest, and Derek has to close his eyes against the barbed emotions that drag up from the pit of his stomach through his chest and throat.
He is sick to death of History. Lately he feels his knees might buckle under the weight of his team’s great history, and the expectations of past performance, and his heartsick longing for those golden four years when he was in love, and a champion, and his life was perfect.
“I’ll think about it,” he offers. “Maybe. Quizá,“ he says, looking at Melky.
Melky looks grateful as an orphan with an ice cream cone, and Derek starts to move away, but he turns back after a couple steps, unable to keep himself from asking, “What makes you think I want him to stay?” He scolds himself internally for how belligerent he sounds; the kids don’t deserve it.
After the translation, Melky bursts into his sunny smile and speaks quickly and briefly to Robbie. Derek doesn’t understand any of the words, but the tone tells him that Melky thinks he’s saying something really obvious, and Derek braces himself for what it might be.
“He said, ‘Alex make you smile.’”
The pain-spiked feelings make a second pass through Derek’s guts, and he takes a few steps away, rounding a corner and slumping against the nearest wall once he’s out of sight, mourning for the time when he was that innocent. He feels like he may never smile again.
He’s pretty sure they’re right. He’s pretty sure Alex would stay if he asked him to. But what if he didn’t?
The End